poker games and the mayor's daughter
by newyorktopaloalto
Summary: Spot really, really should not have gone to Manhattan on a call from Kid Blink. 1899. Humor/Parody. Gen.


**A/N: **This is a ridiculous piece of epic proportions. I have no excuse.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Newsies, Newsies: The Musical, Blood Drips Heavily on Newsies Square, the Land Before Time, Illusion, RENT, The Dark Knight series, or anything else mentioned in the fic.

**~*Poker*~**

"I'm here to challenge you."

Spot looked down, raising his eyebrow at the boy— who admittedly was quite a bit taller than him and probably a few years older.

"I've never seen you before, so what are you challenging me to?" he asked, not deigning to leave his perch.

"A game of poker."

It was said so sternly, so resolute, that Spot literally had to blink in shock for a couple of seconds before answering.

"You want to challenge me in poker?" he asked incredulously, voice pitching higher the more he spoke, "Are you fucking with me?"

The boy shook his head and crossed his arms, huffing the slightest bit as Spot laughed at him.

"Okay, sure, I'll play you in poker," Spot finally said, shaking his head and guffawing some more.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asked as the boy started to leave (with the oh so ominous words of 'I'll call you when it's time.' Really, Spot was shaking.)

"Blink. Kid Blink, and you remember that, Conlon."

Spot gave 'Blink, Kid Blink' a thumbs up and rolled his eyes, leaning against the side of his perch once more. Some people just made him wonder, truly.

**~*identity*~**

When he was called— and by calling Spot meant 'Race coming down to the docks and muttering about Blink and poker,' Spot didn't hurry. In fact, he did the opposite of hurrying, and dawdled as long as he could. Because, okay, he was a bastard, he knew that. Let the kid sweat a bit or something.

"You ever gonna go over there?"

It was Rails. In response, Spot shrugged and jumped down from his perch, gesturing for the taller newsboy to take his place.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbled, saluting the newsies he passed, counting each of the planks on the dock with his cane as he walked.

There were 43,276 steps from his perch on the Brooklyn docks to the front door of the Duane Street lodging house. How did he know that? Well, it was definitely a boring walk when he used to do it to play poker with Race and Jacky every week.

Regardless, he walked it again, counting out each of the steps in his head. And okay, maybe he was a little OCD as well (even if that term wouldn't come about for another 50 years or so) but being king came with responsibility, you know. Like counting steps.

He nodded his head triumphantly at himself and continued walking.

However, before he get all the way to the lodging house (he still had 9,648 steps to go, to be exact) he heard a shrill cry. A cry of a lady in distress. Running from his spot— he yes he understood the pun as well, he barreled into an alleyway, only to see two men facing each other, looking slightly horrified.

"What's the matter?" he asked in his most stern voice, face taking on a 'don't fuck with me' expression.

"He says his name is Specs," Specs said, gesturing to another guy (who, while not looking like Specs, had some similar characteristics.)

"Well, actually, he says his name's Ryan Steele, but he goes by Specs."

The other Specs nodded and muttered something about a 'damn trans-dimensional vortex.' Spot didn't know what any of those words meant except for 'damn' and by the blank expression on Specs' face, he guessed that the other boy was just as lost.

"Well, Specs, I mean the Ryan one," he said, shaking his head as Specs-Specs turned to look at him, "I think you oughta stop scaring the real Specs, huh?"

"I _am _the real Specs," Ryan-Specs said, sighing as if he'd explained this a thousand times before, "just one from a parallel universe."

Spot nodded, muttering a little 'uh-huh,' before shaking his head once more. It wasn't his job to deal with this. Thankfully, he would be going to the lodging house, so he could tell Jacky about it.

"Stay here, I'll get Jack," he muttered, walking away and cursing himself as he realized he had lost count in his steps.

**~*the mayor's daughter*~**

When he got to the lodging house, he sauntered over to Jack, explaining the situation and rolling his eyes as Jack muttered about the same thing happening to him (except only he was an artist and dating a journalist named Katherine or something, Spot didn't much care.)

"Thanks, Spot, I'll take care of it," Jacky finally said, slapping Spot's back and running off in the entirely wrong direction— Spot didn't care enough to correct him.

He sighed as he mounted the stairs to the housing quarters (13 stairs, and Spot never thought about how unlucky that was, because whenever he did, he always lost in poker that night.)

What he discovered whereupon opening the door, however, was _not _what he was expecting. Instead of a 'menacing' looking 'Blink, Kid Blink,' sat Racetrack in a dress.

"What?" he asked, furrowing his brow and blinking (especially as one of the other boys— Mush maybe?, came out with a wig.)

"Blink wants to go out with the mayor's daughter," Race explained, smirking— and wow that looked weird with lipstick on him.

"So…?" Spot asked, because okay, he was confused.

"So," Mush explained, and yeah, it was Mush because he just took off his shirt for no apparent reason, "we're going to send him on a date with the 'mayor's daughter.'"

They both snickered and did a little secret-handshake thing that left Spot even more baffled than he already was.

"So where is Blink?" he finally asked, getting tired of watching them giggle and try to get Race's wig on.

"I dunno," Mush mumbled, sticking a bobby pin in Race's hair, ignoring the 'ow, you rat!' that came from the smaller boy.

"I saw him over at Tibby's," Race helpfully replied, and Spot finally wondered how Race got here so much faster than him, when he hadn't even started selling his papers when Spot left for Manhattan.

Oh well, logic wasn't necessarily adhered to in 'newsie land' as Spot sometimes called it— in his head, when no one was listening. Well, no one ever listened in his head (hopefully.) But maybe if he stayed very, very quiet, and very, very still, he could make sure of it. Except for that fly buzzing. Goddamnit.

"What are you doing?" Race asked, and whoa, he actually looked like a girl, weird (and Spot didn't know why he had the sudden urge to say it 'goil' but he did.)

"Nothin'" Spot murmured, turning away from the two of them and starting to walk down the stairs.

Where could, 'Blink, Kid Blink' be? Hmmm…

**~*glitter glue*~**

He looked around (even in the outhouse, but no one was there except a guy who looked like he shat himself to death,) but couldn't find the patched-kid anywhere.

"Hey, can you help me with something?"

It was Skittery. Well, he thought it was Skittery. It looked like Skittery with a small tumor attached to him.

"What?" he asked, wary.

"Tumbler won't get off of me," Skittery muttered, "I think he got glued onto my back somehow."

He turned around to show Spot, and yeah, it looked like actual glue. With glitter in it (he smirked because, oh yeah, the kid had glued himself to Skittery on purpose.)

"No," Spot stated, smiling and waving a little as he walked away.

He passed a grocers and looked inside. Maybe Blink was hungry or something. Looking through the aisles, he sighed as he couldn't find the guy anywhere. He was starting to look forward to this challenge, but he couldn't be challenged if his challenger was missing.

But then! A speck on the metaphorical horizon. Yes! His savior, his destiny, his absolute salvation.

"Motherfuckin' Tree Stars!" he shouted in joy, grabbing all that he could and running out of the shop with them, laughing manically.

He loved Tree Stars.

**~*almost there*~**

An hour later, after his snack, he started searching for 'Blink, Kid Blink' once more. He passed an alley, where he saw Jack hanging upside-down, pretending to be a bat, a street festival, where David was arguing with a fortune teller, and a graveyard, where Skittery (sans Tumbler) was making out with a random girl.

Manhattan was weird.

Munching on his last Tree Star, Spot thought he saw a glimpse of Blink. However, as he ran over to the commotion, he realized it was just a bunch of people dancing on tables and singing about drugs and AIDS (which he didn't know what that was, but they were still singing about it.)

But then he had an epiphany. Duh. Blink would be out on a date with the mayor's daughter. Of course.

Hurrying to the nicest restaurant he knew of, he peered through the window and fist-pumped internally. There he was, making gooey eyes at an uncomfortable looking Racetrack still dressed as the mayor's daughter.

Poor Blink, though, it wasn't even Saturday night. Guess he was just going to get down on Friday, instead.

After a second of watching, Spot decided that he didn't want to play poker anymore. He counted the stairs to the lodging house, and he wasn't in the mood to lose.

**~*brooklyn*~**

"Brooklyn!" he shouted as he wandered back to his home happily, deeming to never return to Manhattan again.

(Well, except to play more poker, of course. He just hoped that Race would shut up about his 'fuckin' chair' the next time.)


End file.
